Struggle
by WriteOnForever
Summary: Clarisse is trying to keep herself together and gets a little support from an unexpected someone.


Disclaimer: I did not write this series. Take my word for it.

Struggle

My sword slices through the dummy's neck. As the head goes flying across the arena, I shift my momentum so the blade impales itself in my victim's side, deep enough to sever the spine in a real person. Feeling some sick satisfaction in this, I pause to inspect the rest of my handiwork. Enemies lay dead on the floor, decapitated or gutted or missing limbs. Not bad for two hours.

"_Practice time is over. From now on, it's for real." _That's what I'd told Percy. What I'm doing, though, what I've been doing since he got the hint to leave me alone, isn't training—it's distraction. A distraction from my thoughts, the ones that revolve around a near-dead boy laying in the Infirmary, trapped in the darkened Hades of the Labyrinth, lost and confused and oblivious to the fact that he's safe, he's home, why doesn't he get that…

I find another target, one of the few left standing, and begin attacking. No more thinking.

"Clarisse?"

With a growl, I jam my sword into the dummy's stomach and turn. "What do you want, Fletcher?"

Raising his hands in a show of innocence, Lee says, "I just came to make sure you're okay."

"'Course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"

"No one's seen you all day. You missed dinner."

"Wasn't hungry," I grunt, removing my weapon from its makeshift sheath. "Now if you don't mind, I have some more dummies to slaughter."

"Clarisse—"

"Leave, punk."

"No." He approaches me slowly, as though I'm a wild animal he doesn't want to frighten. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," I snarl through clenched teeth.

"It's Chris, isn't it?"

I scowl—I never should have told him about Chris during the golden laurel challenge. "That's none of your business."

"C'mon, Clarisse, you can talk to me."

"Why? We're not friends; just because we were partners doesn't mean anything. So get out of my sight."

"No. Not until I know why you're upset."

"Why do you even care?"

"Because you're hurting, and you shouldn't go through this alone."

Pursing my lips, gripping my sword so tightly my fingers turn white, I spit, "You really want to know? Chris is dying."

"Look, I get he's in bad shape—"

"No, he's really dying. Chiron says he's lost the will to live. He's in the Infirmary now. And there's nothing we can do but wait."

Stunned, he stares at me. Unable to stand the pity in his eyes, I resume hacking at the target, severing its arms.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't give me that," I growl.

"I'm no _giving _you anything," he insists. "I mean it."

"Why? Chris is a traitor. He sold everyone at this camp to the Titans because he's pissy that he hasn't been claimed. He's an enemy and deserves to die."

"You don't have to play that game with me."

"What's that suppose to mean?" I demand, pointing my sword to him.

If he's fazed, he doesn't show it. "Playing the tough girl who doesn't give a damn about anyone or anything."

"I'm a daughter of Ares; this isn't some sort of act."

"Yes, it is," he objects. "Just because the War God is your dad doesn't make you some mindless killing machine. Remember last year, when that new girl came, totally traumatized? You spent every night with her until she stopped having nightmares."

"She might've been my sister," I grumble, refusing to meet his eyes.

Snorting, he counters, "Yeah, okay, and the Stolls could have been sons of Athena. Admit it: you did it because she needed someone to lean on."

"Whatever."

"Or the other summer, when your brothers were picking on that kid with the lisp? You not only got them to stop, but apologize."

"You want to make a point some time soon, runt?"

"You care about people," he murmurs. "Even if you're too stubborn to accept that. So seeing Chris like this, it's normal to be upset."

"No, it's not. He stabbed m—us in the back."

"Me," he corrects. "That's what you wanted to say, wasn't it?"

"Leave," I command, pretending that my voice isn't quivering and my eyes aren't burning. "Get out of my sight before I cut you open."

"You wouldn't do that."

"How willing are you to take that chance?"

Instead of fleeing, or at least backing away, he has the nerve to get closer. "Spending your day tearing apart dummies isn't going to make you feel better, Clarisse."

"Oh, but talking about my feelings will?" I sneer, barking out a laugh. "What, you want me to moan about how _hurt _I am, how _sad _I am? Well, keep waiting. Now, for the last time, leave me the Hades alone!"

"No."

"Damn it!" I shout, throwing my sword down in frustration. "What isn't getting through your thick skull? I don't want you here!"

"I don't care what you want—you need me here."

"No, I don't!"

"You do!" His hands are suddenly grabbing my wrists, and even though I have at least four inches and thirty pounds on him, his grip is surprisingly strong. "The person you love is dying and you're so concerned with your stupid image that you can't see what it's doing to you! All you do anymore is train, and, yeah, there's a war going on, but you won't be any help if you wear yourself out before the battles even begin!"

"I'm fine!" I return, trying to jerk from his grasp.

"You're not! So just _talk _to me!"

"Why should I?"

"You trusted me enough to tell me what was going on with Chris," he points out. "So trust me now."

"Trust only gets you hurt!" I shriek, throwing my arms to the side so his hands release me. "You trust someone and they'll only betray you!"

As I struggle to calm myself, he murmurs, "Chris didn't mean to betray you. He went against camp, not you."

"Same thing," I object, furious that my voice sounds choked.

"It's not. He cared about you a lot, Clarisse. Anyone could see that. When he was with you…he never stopped smiling. Not even when you were kicking his ass."

Against my will, I think about Chris before he joined the other side. We'd been cabinmates, him arriving only three days after I had, and for two weeks, before the boar and spear appeared above my head, we barely left each other's side, training and eating and practically sleeping together—all the beds had been taken, so we slept on the floor, just inches apart. Even after I joined my siblings, he always mangled his schedule so he had at least one activity with me, no matter how many times Chiron insisted he had to stick with the Hermes cabin. He was the one who convinced me to start sneaking into the woods after curfew so we could hang out, and it was during one of those encounters that he gave me my first kiss. "I really like you, Resse," he'd whispered when we broke apart, fingers still entwined with mine. "You're perfect."

But clearly perfect wasn't good enough because he's _gone, _playing lackey for Luke, ready to destroy his family and friends and _me. _Biting my lip, reducing it to flayed flesh and fresh blood, I focus on Lee and counter, "Leaving camp meant leaving me. He knew that. So he didn't give a damn."

"He did, Clarisse."

"Just shut up!" I scream. "You don't understand!"

"So make me understand! I don't care if you make me a shish kabob afterwards, just _talk to me_!"

"It's not fair!" The words fly from my mouth, working in direct defiance of my brain.

"What's not fair?" he asks, his voice so much quieter now, so calm and gentle and concerned.

"He can't move on." I want to shout, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper. "He can't move on when I've spent the last six months trying to make him get better, staying with him for hours on end in the Big House basement listening to him ramble on about the Labyrinth. If I haven't given up, then he can't, either."

"He's not moving on," Lee protests softly. "He's not abandoning you. Gods, he'd have to be an idiot to leave you. He's just…too far gone. There's nothing left in him to give, and he can't fight anymore."

"He should be stronger," I hiss, dropping to the ground so I can grab my sword.

"I'm sorry, Clarisse." His hands are on my shoulders, and for some reason, that throws off my balance, forcing me to my knees.

"It's not _fair_," I repeat, my voice shattering on the last word.

"It's not," he agrees, rubbing comforting circles into my back. "It's not."

"I just want him back." I'm too concerned with keeping myself from crying to grimace at how pathetic I sound.

"I know. And if I thought for a second that I could do something to heal him, I would." Tenderly, his hand finds my face and brushes my cheek, as though he knew that a single tear had escaped. "But I can't. So all I can do is promise that I'll have your back, no matter what happens."

I want to say something, if only thank you, but speaking will make me completely lose it, so instead I simply nod. Maybe that's enough of an answer for him because he stay, hands on my shoulders, trying to sooth me. After a while, I close my eyes and, for only a moment, allow myself to pretend it's Chris.


End file.
